The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(37)

“You’re a little far from her reach,” I replied.

His lips quirked in that one-sided smirk.

At our backs, Auma and an Illucian servant rushed about, refilling goblets with wine or water and tending to whatever needs we might have. I made sure not to have any. The Jin girl had readopted her meek exterior, and it made me uneasy to see her bustling about so swiftly. Everyone else simply ignored them, as if they thought their glasses refilled themselves and their empty plates vanished into thin air.

I wore a simple pale-green gown I’d selected because it was my warmest, but my arms still prickled with cold despite the heat of the fires around the room, and it didn’t escape Razel’s notice.

“We’ll get you some warmer gowns and a nice coat made,” she said. Her sugary tone made me sick.

“Thank you.” I forced a smile to crack across my face and went back to my food, but she kept talking.

“You’ll have free rein of the castle, of course. I want you to be comfortable here.” Her eyes scanned me, falling at last on my scarred arm. “And not to worry. It may be too warm for gloves where you’re from, but you’ll be perfectly comfortable with them here. We’ll get you some fine ones made.”

Where you’re from. As if she couldn’t even deign to speak my kingdom’s name.

My scarred hand curled into a fist of its own accord. “I don’t want to cover my scars, if that’s what you mean.”

Ericen went still.

Razel picked up a knife and cut a slice of butter. “Of course not, dear. Gloves are part of Illucian fashion. I know how important it is for girls your age to fit in. We’ll make a proper Illucian princess of you yet.”

Not before I strangle myself. Or you. The thought had barely crossed my mind when I met Kiva’s gaze. She eyed my fist, and I opened it, but the tension in my shoulders felt permanent. I scanned the tables full of people—no one wore gloves.

I glanced at Ericen, who made a point of not catching my eye. This time, I saw the truth beneath his posture. The easy sprawl, the look of constant mild irritation mingling with disgust: it disguised the tension underneath. Why did he look as on edge as I felt? And what exactly was Razel’s game? She was like a shark trying to trick a smaller fish into thinking it was safe.

Razel stood, and the crowd went instantly silent. Soldiers snapped to attention, and every set of eyes settled on the queen. No one so much as whispered. A chill prickled my neck—they looked at her with reverence fit for a goddess.

The queen stared back with a look I recognized. I’d seen it on my mother’s face a thousand times. A delicate blend of strength and a faint protective edge, something almost maternal.

She could level kingdoms and massacre families, but she cared for her people. Either that or she was very good at pretending. Considering she was Illucian, I figured the latter.

“I give thanks to Rhett for this special evening,” she began.

Every Illucian in the room clapped a fist to their heart simultaneously in recognition of their god’s name.

“Not only has my son returned to us, but he’s come with his wife-to-be, Princess Anthia Cerralté of Rhodaire. Please join me in welcoming her.”

Applause sounded, and I tried my best to look bashful and appreciative instead of glaring murderously as everyone’s eyes fell on me.

I felt like I was on display. Like Rhodaire had already been conquered and I was the prize.

“One week from now, we will have a ball in Rhett’s name to commemorate the occasion.”

A murmur spread through the room, and I nearly gagged, hiding it with a cough in my hand. A ball? Imagining the fake smiling Illucian faces and even faker compliments nearly had me sinking under the table.

Did she plan to announce the date of the wedding at the ball? Caliza had said it would occur when Razel wanted, and the idea that it could be sprung upon me at any time made it yet another thing out of my control.

Razel sat back down, and the hum of conversation picked up again. I scanned the faces in the crowd. How many of these people had been involved in Ronoch? How many of them would flaunt it in my face at the ball?

I spent the dinner angled toward Kiva’s side of the room so Razel couldn’t easily get my attention. More than once, lords or ladies came up to the table to pay respects to the queen and be introduced to me so they could offer their congratulations. Some greeted Ericen enthusiastically, others with an air of disinterest. He responded to them all with the same sharp smile and a dangerous gleam in his eye, exchanging stiff pleasantries that sounded like funeral rites.

Razel knew people’s names and asked after their families. They glowed beneath her attentions, but their exchanges felt fake—stiff and formal, like soldiers to a commander. Not like when my mother or Caliza spoke to people, where a true camaraderie existed.

The nobles’ smiles turned to half-concealed sneers when they addressed me.

“I’m sure you’re happy to get out of that abhorrent heat.”

“How gracious of our queen to extend a peaceful hand during your time of struggle.”

“Nice scars.”

My head snapped up, but the soldier who’d spoken was already bowing to Razel. I stared him down. He flashed me a haughty smile before stepping from the dais, his movements languid. My gaze followed him back to his table, where he sat beside the guard whose ribs I’d broken with the torch during our journey, slinging his arm across his shoulders.